


Misery and Company

by DarlingDearestDemonic



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Consensual Sex, Cussing, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Gratuitous Smut, Hair-pulling, Plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingDearestDemonic/pseuds/DarlingDearestDemonic
Summary: I mean, what else are two wayward outcasts supposed to do when dinner's over?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 272





	Misery and Company

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a kink  
> And Geralt's buff.  
> I'd like to think  
> He takes it rough.
> 
> Written, because I have the hugest crush on him and I just had to let my imagination run wild.

The Beast, as it was called, was actually a small creature about the size of a household dog. It was reptilian, with ink-black scales dotted in gold. It fed on the wild mushrooms and watercress that grew by the river. If one were to judge it by demeanor alone, it was fresh out of infancy. But Misery knew better. For in the few months of their shared tenancy it had given birth to a litter of hatchlings, leading her to believe that it was parthenogenetic due to the lack of others of its kind. 

But was it really a threat, as the villagers claimed? 

She watched it from her perch on a small mound above the river. The long-since withered stalks were cold and clammy, and they irritated her skin. Still, she did not move. One of the hatchlings broke away from the group and lunged at a passing insect, its razor-sharp teeth catching the light of the morning sun as it fell back down. It was of a carnivorous sort, she could tell by the hooked fangs, but the creatures hadn't shown interest in the mammalian fauna yet. Which was good, as that meant that they were still trainable.

Still, she had developed a habit of spying on them from afar, just to ascertain their behavior. She couldn't risk leaving the land, not unless they posed an absolute threat. That, and since they were the only creatures nearest to her kind, their interaction with the river would indicate whether or not it had been poisoned.

After all, she was still rather unpopular in the village.

The sound of twigs snapping reached them all at once and both she and the parent creature raised their eyes in alarm. It hadn't been loud enough to signal footfalls, and yet the pattern of breakage was too sudden to be anything other than human. The birds had fallen silent and this set her heart racing, for the forest only became quiet when a large predator was nearby.

_ Shit god damn,  _ she thought to herself. And then she saw him. She cursed herself for not seeing his yellow eyes and white hair sooner. Although he, like her, had attempted to conceal himself beneath the ashen-green brush, the glaringly human outline of his form stood out in stark contrast to the chaos of the shrubbery. He was poised and ready to attack, but the parent creature hadn't yet figured out his position in relation to itself. From somewhere beyond, a horse neighed and this caught her off guard. She turned her head and suddenly there was a massive crackling of brush and splashing water as he lunged forward towards the Beasts. She cried out in frustration and dashed towards the river at the same time. The Beasts startled and scattered left and right, screaming, as she and the unknown man stumbled to a halt before each other in the crashing river. 

They stared at each other for a moment in surprise, she brandishing a large wooden staff and he, wielding a small knife by his side.

"Shit!" He muttered as she, now seeing him fully, cried "Witcher!" and brought her staff down hard upon his head.

He hissed and stumbled backward, his armed hand temporarily swinging limply at his side. Without hesitation, she brought the staff down -  _ crack  _ \- against his broad neck and began to curse.

"You think you can just come into  _ my forest  _ and fuck with  _ my  _ animals?!" She screeched, now made delirious by her ego, and swung low again. He stuck his hand out and deflected her blow. The staff hit the water with a loud  _ thunk  _ and he straightened up. Weaponless, but high on adrenaline, she shoved him and caught him off balance. The entire mass of him went tumbling and he fell backward into the water. 

"  _ My little beasts?!"  _ She threw her weight upon him and straddled his waist. Her fingers found his throat and she tried to squeeze but his neck was simply too large, his skin leathery and seemingly impenetrable. 

"Shit," she said as her face softened in embarrassment. She already knew what was coming. She could see it in the tightening of his muscles and the curling of his lip. She braced herself as he growled and swung her off of him as easily as he would a sack of potatoes. She landed in the river bed, her head bouncing off of the slimy stones, and her vision went haywire from the shock of it. She felt his knees digging into the sides of her exposed abdomen and she knew then that he was going to kill her, just for fun, just to prove a point. She squeezed her eyes closed and, when nothing happened, opened one of them and saw that he was smiling. His eerily amber-gold eyes flashed in amusement, along with his curiously white teeth. Water dripped from his long white hair and onto her already wet face, blinding her with every grayish droplet.

"You must be Misery," he said in a disconcertingly baritone voice.

"Yeh, and you're making me miserable. Get off me, you mutant Witcher  _ oaf.  _ "

He swung his leg from on top of her and she pushed herself up. The coldness of the water shocked her as she dragged herself bodily out of the river. Her skirt clung heavily to her skin and she wished that, at least, she had more dignified attire to swath her defeat. She saw him sheathing his knife from the corner of her eye as she pushed herself up from her muddied hands and knees.

"Well," she said as she swung her waterlogged hair clumsily over her shoulder. She placed her hands on her hips and, breathing heavily, tried to appear as unaffected as possible. "How the  _ fuck  _ do you know who I am, then?"

"You're quite the famous one in the village." The Witcher tucked his bottom lip in and whistled. The sound of neighing echoed across the forest again and soon a magnificent brown horse came trotting into view. The Witcher pet its strong neck appreciatively and the horse tossed its head in egotistical delight. "  _ When fruit and nut rot on the ground, a girl named Misery's around.  _ "

Right. The Bard. The damned Bard. She nodded her head, at a loss, then stepped forward and placed her hand on the horse's side. "And you're a Witcher," she said as if maybe the legacy behind his own title would overshadow her's. She wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to feel then. By all accounts of the villagers, she should have felt scared and even disgusted by his presence. But they had failed to mention that he would be so...handsome. Her eyes roamed curiously over the bulge in his pants and then the outline of his thick, sculpted ass as he lifted himself onto his horse. 

"Stuffed in the front and the back," she muttered to herself in awe. 

"Sorry?" He said in a tone that implied that he wasn't sorry and knew exactly what she had said.

"Nothing," she said quickly. He nudged his horse with his knee and she watched in alarm as they began to move away from her. She couldn't believe that that was it: that she had tussled with a Witcher for a few seconds and now he was leaving her. It seemed as if he was taking so much with him as if his presence was a magnetic field sucking all of the adventure and the excitement of the world with him. She knew better than to trust strangers, considering her predicament, but the thought of being left with boring days scouting out the Beast and doing what little laundry she had left frightened her. She picked up her skirts and rushed after him.

"They sent you to kill the Beast?"

"Yes. And I should make you pay me their coin since you scared it away."

"It's friendly, you know. I've been watching it. Hasn't caused me any trouble or attacked my animals."

"Have you ever met a grown  _ sthrusa  _ ?"

"A  _ what  _ ?"

"A  _ sthrusa.  _ That's what it's called."

"Can't say I have. Haven't met a dead one, though. And I don't want to. I plan on taming it. And if you try to kill it-"

"I don't  _ try,  _ " he said smartly. "I  _ do  _ ."

She bit her lip. "Fancy another bonk on the head?"

"From the staff that you lost in the river?"

"Plenty more where it came from. Nothing but trees around here.  _ Witcher.  _ " She stopped walking and spread her arms out with a dramatic sigh. "Where are you going?"

"Doesn't concern you."

"Well, I figure, since we're no longer at each other's throats in a river, we're both wet, and I haven't had a dinner companion in ages…" she let her voice trail off implicitly. He didn't respond immediately, which she assumed meant that he was somewhat interested. "I mean it's not like either of us are really welcome in village taverns."

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, a single eye gleaming in amusement. She put on her most innocent face - or the most wicked one, as her neighbors liked to tell it - and hunched her shoulders angelically. "Misery loves company?" She added sweetly and he sighed. 

"Fine," he said as he helped her onto his horse, "But I'm not going because you charmed me into it. I'm going because I pity the girl who makes a pun like that."

Her cabin consisted of four wooden walls, a dirt floor, and a roof that sprung leaks at the most inconvenient times. But she loved it. The fireplace that she had built kept it warm at all hours of the night and the single, cracked window let in just enough sunlight to create the illusion of homeliness. Some man whose name and story she did not know had built it a long time ago to escape the chaos of their world. It was highly likely that his bones rested beneath her garden or in the river itself.

She lifted the lid from the pot and pretended to busy herself with its contents. Really, she was watching Geralt in the stolen antique mirror hung above the oven. The fabric of his shirt clung desperately to his skin as he slid it away from his body. His proportions were bulbous and thick in the warped glass, but still, the sight of his broad chest and hilly arms lit a fire within her that not even the steam from the pot could cool. She gasped quietly and slowly, steeped in her own fantasy, loosened the buttons at the top of her shirt. It had been months since she had seen a man and years since she had seen such an arousing one.

"A Witcher sees everything," he grumbled in a low voice as he slipped the sleeves from his wrist. His eyes were lowered but his tone was jovial.

"Then all he sees is a young girl trying to free herself from her soggy clothes. Here," she turned around and traded him his shirt for a bowl of soup. As his hand brushed hers, their eyes met and a shiver shot through her belly. She turned around quickly and retrieved another large pot from her old wooden cabinet. "This'll take years to wring out," she hissed as she knelt over the pot and began to twist his shirt upon itself.

"Then don't," he said.

"You're right. Hospitality was never my strong point." She dropped it in the pot with an unceremonious  _ thunk  _ and then settled herself on a bundle of her bedsheets before him. She watched as he devoured her soup ravenously, not so much as a testament to her cooking but a display of his own grotesque capabilities at consumption. 

"I see you like snake tail soup. I threw some rats in there for good measure."

He grunted in a very non-committed manner, which she liked. She forced herself to look away from the hair on his chest and gazed thoughtlessly into the fire. "Did they tell you why they call me Misery?"

"I can hazard a few guesses. Your cooking, for one? And your ravishing looks?"

She guffawed and shook her head. "Amongst many things. No, I caught my father's mistress in a rather compromising position with a male goat."

X

_ "Give me coin and I won't tell!"  _

_The young mistress sprung up and hurriedly adjusted her stockings as chicken feathers exploded around them._

_"I'll give you a wallop on the head if you do!"_

_The goat bleated in dismay as the woman descended upon Misery and sent them both tumbling to the ground. They tussled for a moment, enraged until Misery ended up on top of her with a tuft of the girl's chicken shit-smeared hair held victoriously in the air._

_ X _

"I couldn't bribe her but I didn't leave the situation empty-handed. I figured, 'why not let bygones be bygones?' And decided to just forget about it. Until suddenly the bard started singing nasty songs about me and the men in the tavern started looking at me differently. Whilst I was out minding my business she was spreading rumors about me to every man that she bedded. 'She's bad luck,' is what she said about me, and 'she's half-woman, half-bat.' And they believed it! Before I even knew what was happening, they had set my things in the street and told me to leave."

"And are you half-woman, half-bat?"

"If I am, I hadn't had any complaints before then. But the crops suddenly failing and the wells running dry...  _ that  _ was witchcraft. I don't doubt the bitch was a witch. Hm," she gulped thickly and twisted her lips. "So here I am."

"Here you are."

She stood up with the intent to take his empty bowl to the sink but he had risen at the same time. A tense moment passed as they regarded each other, mere centimeters separating their chests, and then she grabbed the bowl from him and turned away. She couldn't let him see how his presence made her veins pulse madly beneath her skin, how the color of his eyes made her breath catch in her lungs.

"I heard," she said with some difficulty as she plunged his bowl in a vat of old dishwater, "that Witchers don't feel emotions. Do they feel other things?"

"Like what?"

She sighed magnificently as his strong hands snaked around her waist and his arms enveloped her body from behind.

"Like what I'm feeling." 

He turned her around and set his stormy gaze upon her face. Suddenly, he threw himself against her and she cried out as her lower back was ground into the cabinet's edge. She wrung his bare shoulders in anticipation as he jerked her skirt away and slid her shirt over her head.

"Show me what you're feeling and we'll see if our stars align."

The Witcher had the strength of a frenzied horse and the relentlessness of a hunting lion. All at once, her body grew hot as he pushed her down onto the sheets on the floor and entered her in one swift motion.

"Fuck, fuck, and  _ fuck!  _ " She cried out as he moved in and out of her with no mercy. "Fuck it all!"

"It's not ladylike to make such noises."

"No?"

She rolled herself from beneath him, kicked him square in the chest, and straddled his supine body. He smiled toothily at her and she slapped his face. "Well, it's not like a gentleman to start without  _ at least  _ fingering a girl."

She spread her fingers along his jaw and began to ride his cock with an almost furious passion. His head dropped back and he growled in delight. His fingers bore welts into her skin as he guided her hips. She wanted it fast but he wanted it faster, faster than she was prepared for, but she'd be damned if she let him win their little game. Then, suddenly, with a mighty crash of shelves and other knick-knacks, he flipped her around and forced her down onto her hands and knees. She howled, much against her own wishes and to the satisfaction of his own, and he buried his cock in her to its very hilt. He gave her body a mighty shove and she fell to her elbows and braced her forehead against the floor. There would be bruises and she liked it.

"Have you ever thought that maybe you're the monster that you've been sent out to catch," she hissed and her eyes rolled back into her head as he thrust once, twice, three times inside of her.

"No. But maybe you are."

Her legs gave out from beneath her and she fell splayed out upon her belly. This did not stop him and, as she bent her nails against the ground, he lifted himself into a push-up position and fucked her from above. Sweat splashed onto her back and then her forehead as he jerked her head up by her hair. She feared that she would drown, for already her vision had been lost beneath the onslaught of his sweat. His abnormal length and size beat against something buried so deep inside of her that her pleasure battled with waves of discomfort and then euphoria.

"What's my name?"

"  _ What?  _ "

"I said what-" one thrust, "is-" two thrusts, "my name?" Three thrusts and she spilled what felt like the entirety of her contents onto her floor.

" _ Fucking Geralt of Rivia!  _ "

The sound of his release rumbled along her back and seemed to shake every dish and piece of furniture in her cabin. It deafened her and she slid her arms along her wet floor to cover her ears.

" _ Sonofa  _ -"

He placed a hand on the back of her head and pressed her nose into the sheets.

"I'd ask for payment but it seems you've already made a deposit." She said dryly, her voice muffled and made hollow by the cotton in her mouth. As soon as he let her go, she flipped around and lifted herself on her elbows. Every inch of her body was drenched and set aglow by the firelight. He snickered.

"Deposit?" He wrung the sweat from his face with one mighty hand and then flicked it away onto her floor. "No, I've only just started. Or are you too scared to finish?"

She groaned and let her head fall back onto the floor. Everything in her throbbed and smarted but in an exciting way.  _ Well _ , she figured,  _ I'm probably never going to see you again _ .

"Round two. Like you mean it this time, Witcher."


End file.
